


At Least It's Not Mistletoe?

by AetherSeer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas Party, Crossdressing, Gen, M/M, Multi, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 06:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Christian can feel his eyebrows hit his hairline when he shakes out the folded “outfit” he’s been handed by a smirking Tom. “They’re joking.”





	At Least It's Not Mistletoe?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghosthunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/gifts).



> I wrote this piece for ghosthunter as part of the 2018 Hockey Holidays Exchange. Enjoy!

Christian can feel his eyebrows hit his hairline when he shakes out the folded “outfit” he’s been handed by a smirking Tom. “They’re joking.”

Jakub looks as dismayed as Christian feels, holding his own green velvet … well, Christian would describe it as a monstrosity. “I don’t think they are,” Jakub says slowly. He flicks one of the dangling tassels warily, the red pom-pom swinging.

Christian grimaces. “... it’s not going to fit.”

Madison’s grin is blinding as he jams the Santa hat over his curls. “This is gonna be great, guys. We’re gonna rock it.”

Christian does _not_ share his suitemate’s enthusiasm.

 

* * *

 

Christian tugs at the sleeves of his jacket, but the cheap velvet remains stubbornly too short, baring his wrists and half his forearm. It’s too short everywhere else, too, uncomfortably tight against his ribs and riding up to expose his belly.

The tulle of his skirt fluffs up when he stands, wobbling a little in his heels. He brushes it down, wishing he’d managed to talk Jakub into trading for actual leggings, Christmas colors be damned. Between the skirt and the knee-high stockings, Christian’s legitimately worried about accidentally flashing someone.

Christian’s going to end up walking around the Kappa Psi frat house in a too-small costume for the entirety of the Christmas/New Year’s party. He settles the elf-snowman cap over his hair and takes one last dejected look in the bathroom mirror. It’s too late to back out now.

He’s getting better at walking in heels, but he still keeps a hand out for balance as he navigates the living room. It looks a little like four college guys live there, and a little like Christmas threw up—courtesy of Nate and Chandler’s last-minute Walmart holiday shopping trip.

Nate, for his part, is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably at Braden’s. Jakub’s in the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards for—“That’s my wine,” Christian says.

Jakub turns around, shoulders already hunching into his “guilty” defensive posture. Christian’s already past the wine theft, focusing instead on—“Wow.”

Jakub’s green velvet top fits a little better than Christian’s, but not by much. There’s a _lot_ of leggings-clad thigh on display. Christian skips over the hideous tassels and stutters to a stop. “That’s a dress.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wearing a tutu,” Jakub shoots back, trying to tug the red-trimmed skirt lower. It doesn’t really do much to hide anything.

Christian opens his mouth—to say something, he’s sure—but they’re interrupted by Madison bouncing into the kitchen, white pom-poms swinging wildly. He slings his arm over Christian’s shoulders. “Picture time! Gotta get all _this_ on record.”

Christian groans. The _last_ thing he wants is to end up on Madison’s Instagram wearing a dress. Dressed as an elf, to boot. But Madison holds him in place as Jakub sets up the phone and steps back to cheese for the camera. “On three,” Madison instructs, “say ‘Happy Holidays!’”

The timer ticks down. Christian’s smile feels forced. Jakub’s already messing with the crop and settings by the time Madison’s hand leaves Christian’s shoulder. “V—”

Christian’s phone chimes. _Jakubvranaa has tagged you in a post._

The photo’s not the worst one Christian’s ever taken, but he still tugs at his jacket again, trying in vain to cover his stomach. He doesn’t dare try to move the skirt’s waistline up. He also doesn’t bother trying to protest when Jakub takes his wine out of the cupboards and brings it with; he’s a little too busy trying not to stare at how heels and snowflake-print leggings accentuate Madison’s calves.

 

* * *

 

Christian’s not sure how he managed to lose sight of both his suitemates, but every time he thinks of looking for them, one of the Kappas loads his tray up with drinks again. Christian’s gotten the hang of walking by now, but navigating a full house in heels, a skirt, and a tray of drinks is _so much harder_ than waitresses make it look.

And Christian’s _really_ tired of people grabbing his ass.

He twists away from the group of Rho Epsilon boys he _knows_ to be repeat offenders, offering his tray to a cluster of sorority girls in fluffy Santa hats not unlike the one Madison is wearing. They giggle, giving him blatant once-overs. “Cute skirt,” one comments with a wicked smile.

Christian’s face flames, but … he knows the drill. And he can see Carly smirking at him from across the room. So Christian accepts the comment and performs a rough facsimile of a curtsy. “Thank you.”

That gets even more giggles from the girls. Christian takes their empties on his tray and intends to escape to the kitchen on the pretense of cleaning up. But he’s waylaid by the frat boys waving empty bottles in his direction. “Pledge! We’re running low here.”

Christian grits his teeth and makes his way over. He holds out his tray for the bottles, narrowing his eyes when one of them holds his bottle just out of Christian’s reach. He waves it teasingly. “C’mon, little elf. Wouldn’t want to have to report you to your big brother for being unhospitable.”

It’s _inhospitable,_ Christian doesn’t say. Christian doesn’t have many options but to lean further forward in hopes the guy will stop being a dick and put his bottle down on Christian’s tray. His calves are starting to complain about the stretch. The position, of course, means that his skirt fluffs up even more in the back, a prime target.

The frat boys hoot and laugh, hands big and unwelcome on his body. One particularly hard pinch to the back of his thigh makes Christian’s fingers clench. His tray wobbles dangerously. The bottles clink, and Christian squeezes his eyes shut as they tip and roll, waiting for the inevitable shattering.

Apparently not all of the Rho Epsilons are completely toasted, or at least _one_ of them is sober enough to make the catch, because there no shattering noise, and Christian’s tray doesn’t completely tip. Christian opens his eyes and meets Lars’ steady blue gaze. “Nicke wants to see you in the back,” the older boy says. He flicks a glance at the frat boys, who suddenly seem to have forgotten how to talk now that a senior Kappa’s made an appearance.

Christian bobs his head, steadies his tray, and tugs down his skirt. It fluffs right back up as he makes his way back to the kitchen to dump the empties in the recycling. He takes a minute in the empty kitchen to breathe, carefully dropping the bottles one-by-one into the bin Brooks insists on keeping in the house. When his heart rate has settled down again, he knocks on the door to the downstairs bathroom.

“What?” Nicke sounds irritated even through the cheap wood.

“It’s Christian?” Christian can hear the uncertainty in his own voice. “Lars said you were looking for me?”

The door swings open. Behind Nicke, Christian recognizes the green velvet of Jakub’s costume slumped against the wall. Nicke’s curls are escaping his mini man-bun, tumbling down around his face as his Santa cap tilts to the side.

“Is Jakub alright?”

Nicke blinks. “He’s fine, just very drunk. No one warned him that Alex was in charge of the punch bowl this year.”

 _Oh._ Christian winces. He’d had an entire sip of the punch before Lars had spirited away the cup, and that had been enough to make his throat burn. “How much did he _have?_ ”

Nicke rolls his eyes. “According to Madison, at least two. And Kuzy thinks maybe three.” He swipes a curl out his face. “Too much, clearly.”

Behind Nicke, Jakub scrambles for the toilet, retching miserably into the bowl. Christian winces in sympathy.

Nicke steps back and kneels on the tile, one hand rubbing over Jakub’s back. Christian hangs back awkwardly in the doorway, but the bathroom really isn’t big enough for all of them. He hears the click of heels against linoleum and looks over his shoulder.

“So, um, Ovi says we can take him home if he’s done puking,” Madison says.

Christian looks back at Jakub. Jakub gives him a weak thumbs-up. Nicke rock back onto his heels and stands. “One of you text me when you get to your apartment, understand?”

Christian nods, accepting Jakub’s arm over his shoulder. Jakub’s _heavy,_ and he’s wobbling. Probably still drunk, and the heels don’t help. Christian feels more empathy with his sister’s bitching about uncomfortable shoes now than he ever has before. But Jakub’s probably better off in the heels than walking barefoot in the middle of December, so Christian eases the two of them down the hallway and outside.

Once they’re outside, Madison gets his shoulder beneath Jakub’s other arm. They stumble down the sidewalk to the apartment complex. Christian’s legs are freezing, and his ill-fitting jacket leaves his midriff bare to the biting wind. He’s thoroughly frozen by the time Madison jabs their entry code into the box.

Christian lets Madison handle the entirety of Jakub’s deadweight in favor of kicking off his heels the minute they step into their apartment. His toes are in pain, and his hamstrings protest the changed angle. “Oh, god, I’m never doing that again. Owwww.”

Jakub slumps against the island, blearily peering at the two of them from beneath his hat. Madison’s stockinged feet join Christian’s on the tile, heels tossed carelessly into the pile of sneakers. “Girls are warriors. Oh, that hurts.”

Jakub mumbles something in Czech. Christian doesn’t catch it—Czech is nothing like Swedish—but he gets Jakub up and over to their couch, where Jakub tumbles down and faceplants in a pillow. He half-heartedly tries to reach down and pull off his shoes, but gives up and moans.

“What was in that punch?” Christian asks softly, fingers busy at the buckles of Jakub’s shoes. He keeps his eyes down, focusing on the tiny buckle, rather than where Jakub’s dress has bunched around his waist. There’s a _lot_ of tights-covered ass on display, is what he means.

Madison shrugs. He sets one of their mixing bowls on the floor by Jakub’s head and squeezes into the narrow space between Jakub and the end of the couch. “No idea, but it was strong. I don’t know how you managed to drink a whole cup, let alone three, buddy.”

Jakub mumbles something and nuzzles into the pillow. No, wait, that’s Madison’s thigh. Madison pulls off Jakub’s elf hat and cards his fingers through Jakub’s hair. He gets a happy hum for his trouble, and Jakub wiggling into a better position for the petting.

Christian swallows and returns to getting Jakub’s shoes off. The buckle finally cooperates, and he eases one heel off. Jakub’s toes curl and flex, the muscle in his calf pretty visible beneath the thin red and green fabric. Christian licks his lips and bends his head over the remaining buckle.

He slips the shiny fake leather through and drops the shoe to the carpet. He keeps a hand on Jakub’s ankles, heavy in his lap, and leans back into the couch cushions.

Christian turns his head. Madison meets his eyes, a smile ready on his lips. Jakub butts his head up against Madison’s fingers and sighs. “Love you,” he murmurs into Madison’s lap.

Madison’s smile grows, his eyes crinkling. “Love you, too, V.”

Jakub huffs and wriggles onto his back. One heel collides painfully with the meat of Christian’s thigh; he winces. Jakub peers down at Christian as he tugs his dress down from where it’d ridden up. It doesn’t do much. So much of Jakub’s thighs are on display right now—it’s distracting.

“No, no,” Jakub says. He reaches up and pats Madison’s cheek—too hard, if Madison’s tiny flinch means anything. “I _love_ you. Like, a lot. Like _a lot_ a lot.”

“V, you’re drunk,” Madison tries.

“I love you, and Chris, and I wanna kiss you and cuddle and do boyfriend things,” Jakub continues, like he hadn’t even heard Madison.

Madison blinks at Christian, still petting Jakub’s hair back from his face. Christian blinks back. “You love me?” Madison asks softly.

Jakub hums. “And Chris,” he yawns. “Love both of you, never wanna … lose you … don’t wanna choose.”

Christian wraps his fingers around Jakub’s ankle, thumbing over the knobby bone. “If you,” he can’t quite get the words out, avoiding Madison’s eyes, “if you still want that in the morning, we’ll talk. Okay?”

“‘Kay, but I want kisses,” Jakub slurs.

Christian glances at Madison this time. Madison smiles at him, soft. Christian lets out a shaky breath. _In the morning, if Jakub even remembers,_ he promises himself. They’d talk. For now, though, Madison flips the channel to a nature documentary and Christian lets himself sink into the couch, Jakub’s legs heavy in his lap, Madison at the other end.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please let me know if you find any mistakes and/or typos so I can fix them. And come chat with me on Tumblr at ficcinghell. My inbox is always open.


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